


Something for the Pain

by Ruuger



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Community: seasonal_spuffy, Episode: s07e13 The Killer in Me, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Podfic Available, Season 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-14
Updated: 2009-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuger/pseuds/Ruuger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a shameless bit of hurt comfort, set just before "Killer in Me".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something for the Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spring 2009 round of Seasonal Spuffy.
> 
> There is a podfic available, recorded by constance_b, [here](http://community.livejournal.com/seasonal_spuffy/446917.html).

Buffy wasn't surprised to find Spike in the basement. He seemed to spend most of his time there lately, quietly chaining himself up whenever he wasn't patrolling with her or training with the potentials. "Hiding," added the small bitchy voice at the back of her mind, but she stomped it down. And even if he was, she couldn't really blame him.

She descended the stairs to the basement, the sound of Anya and Andrew arguing fading until the rhythmic hum and rumble of the washing machine drowned it out altogether. Spike was lying on the cot, his left arm flung across his eyes. He appeared to be asleep, and Buffy couldn't help envying him, the quiet solitude of the basement a luxury she could not afford.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, he immediately stirred, peering at her from under his arm. "Patrol time?"

Spike made a gesture to sit up, but Buffy shook her head.

"Chloe twisted her ankle while training with Kennedy. We're staying in for the night."

She was interrupted by a loud thump from above, which prompted both of them to look up towards the ceiling.

Spike quirked an eyebrow. "But in the interest of keeping the girls on their toes, you decided to bring the patrol here?"

Buffy smiled, taking a seat on the cot next to him. As she moved to a more comfortable position, her hip brushed against his leg, and there was an uncomfortable moment, not longer than a fraction of a second, when they were both completely still, their eyes locked in what should have been just a passing glance. Spike was the first to break, and with an awkward smile, he shifted a bit to make room for her. Buffy returned his smile and then looked down at her hands, deciding to check her nails to see if they were in need of a new coat of polish.

"Andrew came up with the idea of having a board game night," she said, idly scratching a hangnail. "But so far it's mostly been a battle to the death between The Game of Life and Trivial Pursuit: Star Wars Edition."

She risked a glance at Spike, finding herself oddly disappointed that he had retreated back to hiding behind his arm. She sighed.

"He's a moron, but it was a good idea. The girls could use something to think about that doesn't involve a painful death and the end of the world. Something normal. Wholesome." She shrugged. "So, a board game night. How about you? Wanna come join us?"

Spike lifted his arm again. There was a suspicious look in his eyes, like he didn't believe that he had heard her right. Buffy felt a twinge of guilt at that, and forced a more cheerful note to her voice, pretending to have misunderstood his look. "It's not as boring as it sounds. Anya's added some new cards to the community chest in Monopoly."

Spike gave her a shy smile and shook his head. "Not tonight, love. I have a headache." Then added quickly: "Thanks for asking, though."

There was something so very un-Spike-like in his expression that Buffy couldn't help laughing.

"Aw, c'mon Spike," she said playfully. "You're never in the mood anymore."

There was a flash of movement, and Buffy stumbled for balance as the cot suddenly jerked underneath her. One moment Spike was lying on the bed, the next he was pressed against the wall, as far from her as the chains would allow. He was breathing heavily, his eyes wide as he stared at her as if expecting to be hit. Or worse. Across the room the washing machine tumbled to a halt, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

Buffy quickly stood up, automatically taking a fighting stance as she scanned the room for whatever it was that had freaked Spike. As far as she could see, they were alone in the basement, her own shadow the only movement she could spot as she slowly turned a full circle to face Spike again. He was still hunched against the wall, his knees pulled up, one hand tangled in his hair and the other wrapped protectively around himself. He was staring at her, looking confused above anything else.

Buffy took a step towards him and then stopped.

Oh.

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache of her own. One would think that after everything, she had earned the right to at least joke about it.

"I'm not the First, Spike," she finally sighed, and reached to touch his arm. It was just the briefest touch, her fingers barely brushing his bicep, but he relaxed immediately, tension draining from his posture.

Buffy looked away when he settled back on the cot. The basement desperately needed cleaning. They had hauled most of the furniture and other accumulated miscellanea to the junk yard after the pipes had burst the year before, and thrown out the rest when the place had been turned into an impromptu training space for the potentials. But even with the minimalist look, the place had a certain unkempt look about it. There were dirty clothes and blood-stained weapons scattered on the floor, and heavy dust covered the few boxes left on the shelves. In the corner there was a packet of washing detergent that had toppled over, spilling its contents all over the floor. Buffy made a mental note to come down later to clean it up if nothing else.

When she turned back to look at Spike, he had taken refuge behind his arm again. She could see the tight line of his mouth, though, and he looked so miserable she had to fight the urge to lean over and stroke his hair to comfort him.

"You really have a headache?"

He nodded.

"I didn't know that vampires could even get headaches. I mean, the kind that aren't from a chip." She frowned. "Are you sure it's not the chip?"

He looked at her again at that, squinting as the light hit his eyes, and then pushed himself into a sitting position.

"You mean, have I inadvertently killed or maimed someone lately?" She began to object, but he interrupted her. "Just kidding, love. Haven't even felt the urge to kill anyone for a while."

He tilted his head and gave her a wry smile. "Apart from Andrew."

Buffy gave his arm a half-hearted swat, but returned the smile. "You're not the only one, so I don't think it counts. I'd get you an aspirin, but we're all out at the moment." She paused and then continued more excitedly, "Oh, but I have a couple of Midol that I hid from the others in case... umm... what?"

If looks could kill, the one Spike was giving her would have already been looking for a place to dump the body. He rolled his eyes.

"As emasculating as the last few years of my unlife have been, I haven't quite turned into a woman yet, Slayer."

Buffy gave him a mock-offended glare, but then turned more serious. "Wait here. I think I may have something."

She left Spike in the basement and quietly slipped past the living room to go upstairs. After locking herself in the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet and moved aside the various bottles and jars of make-up remover, moisturizer, and well past best-before date anti-wrinkle cream until she found what she was looking for. A small white plastic bottle that gave a promising rattle when she shook it.

She twisted the top open and shook a few pills onto her palm. During the year after her mother's death - and her own - she sometimes used to take the bottle out just to look at it. Not because... not because of _that_ (although she had to admit that during the darkest moments, just the knowledge that the pills were there had given her some kind of twisted solace), but because with money so tight, that almost-full bottle of expensive medication had felt like such a waste. She had often wondered how many take-out dinners and school books those pills would have been worth, how many hours of flipping burgers at Doublemeat Palace. So many times she had taken the bottle out, wanting to throw it away just to keep it from mocking her, only to change her mind at the last moment because it had felt too much like losing yet another piece of her mother.

She put the pills back into the bottle and returned downstairs.

When she got to the basement, Spike was lying on the cot with his eyes closed, and for a second she thought about turning back to let him sleep in peace, but then he opened his eyes, wincing at the light.

She thrust the pill bottle in his hand. "Would these work?"

Spike sat up slowly and then squinted at the label on the bottle before giving a small nod.

"They're old, but-"

He was cut off in mid-sentence when there was another loud bump from upstairs, followed by a sound suspiciously like the sound made by 5000 puzzle pieces hitting the floor.

Buffy glanced towards the stairs. "I should probably go and break them up before someone gets killed. I so don't want to spend my day off digging a grave in the backyard. Sure you don't want to join? The board game night, I mean, not the grave digging."

Spike shook his head again, and she gave him one last awkward smile before heading upstairs.

"Buffy?"

She was almost at the top of the stairs when he called after her. When she looked back, he was standing in front of the cot, holding the pill bottle like it was the most precious thing he possessed.

"Thank you, Buffy. This..." He shook his head and looked away. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied, and stepped out the door.

\--------

As much as she had enjoyed the extraordinary normalcy that Andrew's idea had provided to the residents of the Summers household, after a few hours Buffy found her mind drifting, and after three hours of Monopoly and a Scrabble tournament that ended with Amanda holding Andrew in headlock over the correct spelling of 'centrifuge', she finally excused herself.

While the others settled down for a movie, she fetched the mop and returned to the basement to clean the spilled washing powder while she still remembered.

She descended the stairs as quietly as she could to avoid disturbing Spike. He was sound asleep, curled on the cot with a tattered blanket wrapped around himself, and Buffy made a mental note to find him a new one. She gathered as much of the washing powder back into its box - waste not, want not - and then mopped the rest away.

When she turned around, she noticed Spike staring at her blearily from under the blanket.

"Sorry that I woke you." She set the box on top of the washing machine and walked over to the sink. She glanced at him over her shoulder as she washed her hands. "Are you feeling better?"

He sat up shakily and then grinned at her.

"Yeah."

Buffy frowned. There was something odd in the way Spike was looking at her, in the way that his eyes were wandering as if he wasn't quite able to focus on her. She set towards him, but halfway across the room her boot connected with something small that made a clattering sound as it rolled under the cot. Frowning, Buffy knelt down, fishing under the cot until her fingers brushed against the small plastic bottle. She twisted the top open and turned the bottle upside down. It was empty.

Buffy looked up at the still grinning Spike and let out an exasperated sigh. "How many did you take?"

Spike didn't say anything, just waved his hand in a gesture that Buffy took to mean either "five" or "a handful".

She sighed again and then stood up, brushing away the dust bunnies that were clinging to her knees.

"Stupid vampire," she muttered to herself, and set the empty pill bottle on the rickety side table next to the equally empty whisky bottle, which she distinctly remembered also having been more than half-full the last time she'd seen it.

When she turned back to Spike, he was still holding his hand in front of his face, staring at it with his brow furrowed in concentration.

Buffy sat down on the cot next to him and took his hand. He was startled by her touch, but didn't object when she gently pushed his hand down and then helped him lay down again. She took the blanket, draping it over him, and told him, "Just go back to sleep, Spike."

He looked at her like he wanted to say something, but then obediently closed his eyes. She was about to leave when he reached out to grab her hand.

"I love you, Buffy," he muttered quietly, and before Buffy had a chance to say anything, he let go of her again, his hand falling lax on the cot.

Buffy waited for a few more minutes as his breathing slowed down, until he stopped breathing completely. Finally, when she was sure that he was asleep, she leaned over him to stroke his hair.

"Love you too, stupid."


End file.
